Chapter 9 #2
“What is it?” He leaned close.
“Probably nothing.” She stared at it a moment longer, then tossed it into her bag. “I don’t know why it caught my eye.”
He fished the key ring back out and took another long look. “It’s completely different from your house key. I wonder if it opens the pub?”
“Why would I have a key to the pub?” She spread her hands wide. “I don’t have any sort of ownership in the place. And I can’t imagine Clark gave me a key.”
“Maybe not.” He eyed the key, then tossed the ring back into her purse.
“Hopefully, I’ll remember the key when my memory returns. Excuse me.” She stood to make her way to the bathroom. The tea had worked through her system.
Yet even as she did so, the key niggled at the back of her mind. What was it for? And would unlocking that door, wherever it was, help her to remember why someone might want her dead?
Trevor set the bag aside, feeling guilty for rummaging through Bailey’s purse. His sisters would never have allowed him to do such a thing. Well, maybe they would if their life was on the line.
Archie stood silently at the front door. He grabbed his coat, shoved his feet into his boots, and opened the door. “Let’s go, boy.”
His K9 eagerly headed out. Trevor noticed snow flurries were starting to fall. They were light now, but he knew they could easily get worse. He hunched his shoulders to keep the snowflakes from sliding down to melt on the back of his neck.
Archie sniffed around the rental vehicle, then galloped over to lift his leg on the closest bushes. Trevor scanned the area, seeing nothing amiss.
There was no way Black Hat could know their location. Yet he was concerned that they may get stuck if the thick clouds overhead dumped several inches of snow on them. The large black truck would easily be able to plow through the drifts.
The rental SUV had four-wheel drive, but the undercarriage was lower, so it could get stuck. Seeing no fresh footprints in the snow made him feel better.
“Let’s go, boy.” He gave Archie the hand signal to come. His K9 abandoned his exploration of the bushes to bound toward him. Then Archie stood and gave himself a shake to get rid of the snow.
He went back into the cabin, kicking the snow from his boots before stepping across the threshold. Archie trotted to the fireplace. Seeing that Bailey was still in the bathroom, he crossed over to add another log to the blaze, then detoured into the kitchen.
Opening the fridge, he removed the package of chicken. He would have loved some of Anna’s fried chicken, but an oven-backed version would have to suffice. They had green beans and little red potatoes to accompany the meal. Healthy food for Bailey and her baby.
As he prepared the meal, he thought about the key Bailey had noticed. The fact that she’d given it an odd look didn’t mean much. She couldn’t remember her own husband, much less a particular key. Yet he wouldn’t be able to rest until he knew exactly what door the key would open.
“I’m going to sit by the fire.” Bailey’s voice had him turning around. Her skin was pale again.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine. Just tired. I’d like to rest for a bit.” She walked into the living room, bypassing Archie who was back to his usual position near the fire.
“You’ll tell me if you start to feel sick again, right?” He glanced at the window where the snow was coming down faster now. “It’s snowing, so if we need to make the trip into town, the sooner you let me know, the better.”
“I’m fine.” She sighed as she settled into the corner of the sofa. She smoothed her hands over her abdomen. “I’m going to do some deep breathing exercises.”
“Okay.” He forced himself to turn away. His hovering over her wouldn’t help. He had to trust her maternal instincts. Bailey wouldn’t risk harming her child.
His phone rang, startling him. He grabbed it from his pocket. The number was familiar, but not one of his siblings. Belatedly remembering the message he’d left for Sergeant Tom Howell, he quickly answered. “This is Trevor.”
“I got your message.” Tom sounded exhausted, and considering the guy had been woken up well before sunrise, it was hard to hold it against him. “Per your suggestion, I drove out to see Max Nelson. He wasn’t home, so I left my card with a note to call me when he gets in.”
He bit back a flash of impatience. It wasn’t as if they had oodles of time on their side. Bailey was in danger, and the sooner Clark’s buddy Max was interviewed, the better. “What about going to wherever he works?”
“I checked the Sweet Water Pub, he wasn’t there.” Tom’s tone had gotten testy. “He’s a truck driver. I assume he’s on the road making deliveries. I can’t drive around the entire state looking for him. I don’t have a phone number for him either.”
He swallowed a sigh. “Okay, I guess I didn’t realize he was a truck driver. Sorry.”
There was a brief pause. “Anything else you’d like me to do for you? More leads you want me to follow up on?”
Trevor wasn’t going to apologize for trying to find Black Hat. “What about the gas station video? Were you able to get a closer look at the black pickup truck?”
“Unfortunately, there is no video from the gas station your perp shot up.” Now Howell sounded disgusted. “I guess it broke down a week or so ago and hasn’t been repaired yet. In looking at the gas station video located close to Bailey’s house, I haven’t found anything unusual.”
That made him frown. He knew Black Hat couldn’t have damaged the video on purpose, there’s no way the guy would know that Trevor and Bailey would stop there for fuel.
The guy would have had to take out all the gas stations in the entire city and that was highly unlikely.
Just bad luck that they’d stopped at the one station that didn’t have a working video camera. “What about shell casings?”
“Yeah, we found several casings that match the one you found outside the Elk Lodge. Griff has sent them to the lab in Cheyenne. Good thing, as driving would be out of the question.”
“Yeah, I hear you.”
“I’m sure they’ll match,” Tom went on. “But without a weapon to compare to, we won’t learn much.”
“I know.” He tried to think of another avenue to pursue, but he was fresh out of ideas. “Thanks for trying to find Max Nelson.”
“Yeah.” Howell grunted. “I’m calling it a night. My officers are going to be busy enough with this stupid snow.”
“Okay, take care.” He lowered the phone, battling a keen sense of disappointment. He’d really hoped interviewing Max Nelson would reveal a clue as to what was going on. He hadn’t anticipated the guy wouldn’t be home. As a truck driver, Max could be anywhere.
Another dead end, he thought as he placed the baking dish into the oven.
Eyeing the clock, he decided to feed Archie. He had brought in a pile of the K9s supplies, so he crossed over to find the dog food and collapsible food dish.
Archie ran into the kitchen the moment he opened the containers, his dark-brown eyes focused on his food. “You’re something, Arch.” He filled the bowl and stepped back. Archie sat, staring at him expectantly. He didn’t make the dog wait to punish him, but to remind the K9 who was in charge.
A few months ago, a serial killer set out poisoned dog food to try to hurt Alexis’s dog, Denali. The well-trained K9 had not eaten the food, so Denali hadn’t been hurt. But that was exactly the reason they worked with their K9s to make sure they only ate the food their handler provided.
“Okay, boy. Go get it.” He nodded at the bowl.
Archie pounced, his tail wagging as he gobbled his food. To slow him down, Trevor stopped him halfway and made him sit again. Archie didn’t like it but sat patiently waiting for the signal.
“Take it easy, would you?” Shaking his head, he waited a full minute, then gestured to the bowl. “Go get it.”
Archie finished the rest of his meal in record time. Then he licked his chops as if satisfied with his performance.
“Goofy dog.” He cut and seasoned the red potatoes, then set them aside as they wouldn’t take long to bake. Glancing over at Bailey, she appeared to be asleep. But then her eyes opened, and he knew she’d just been resting.
“What was that about Max Nelson?” She stretched and pushed herself up off the sofa. “I heard you talking about him.”
“Sergeant Howell stopped by his home to talk, but he wasn’t there.” He crossed to the computer, struck by an idea. He pulled up the guy’s social media page and scrolled through the pictures. “Apparently, he drives a truck for work and is probably out on the road somewhere.”
“What kind of truck?” Bailey stood behind him, peering over his shoulder. Her flowery scent teased his senses. He kept his gaze on the screen with an effort.
“No clue. I’m hoping to find a picture of him that will provide that information.
” He scrolled through the familiar pictures, then stopped at one.
Max wore a gray shirt with his name over the breast pocket.
On the pocket itself was a well-known beer logo embroidered into the fabric. “He delivers beer?”
“Maybe that’s how he and Clark met.” Bailey moved closer, resting her hand on his shoulder. “I never liked beer.”
He risked a quick glance at her profile. “Is that a memory?”
“No. But imagining the taste makes me feel sick to my stomach.” She straightened and dropped into the chair beside him. “You would know more than I do if I’ve ever had beer.”
“You don’t drink at all from what I remember.” He shrugged. “Your father drank too much, so you and Miles avoided drinking. My family doesn’t drink either.”
“So we have that in common.” She waved a hand at the computer. “I don’t know why you think it’s important to talk to Max. I doubt he knows anything.”
“Maybe not. But he met with Clark shortly before his death. I believe they were at the Sweet Water Pub.” He shrugged and stood. “I’m not a cop, but even I know it’s important to talk to the last person to see him alive.”
She tipped her head to the side. “How do you know I wasn’t the last person to see him alive?”
He hesitated. “I think Miles told me the two of you were together that night. He was with you when you received the call from the police about his death.”
“Oh.” She stared down at her belly. “Well, I still don’t think that means Max is involved. Or knows anything.”
He crossed over to slide the potatoes into the oven and to cook the green beans. “You’re probably right. It’s just something that should be done at some point. Maybe Clark confided in his buddy.”
“Confided what exactly?” She stared at him intently. “Are you suggesting we were having marriage troubles?”
“No, I was thinking more along the lines of work troubles. Maybe a disagreement between Clark and the majority owners of the pub.”
“That makes sense.”
He still thought it was strange that Plymouth Properties hid their members’ names and that they’d spread out from New Jersey to open two restaurants in Wyoming. He was tempted to call Griff again but held off. His brother-in-law would call if he found something.
It didn’t take long for dinner to be ready.
“I can’t believe I’m hungry again,” Bailey groused as he brought the steaming dishes to the table. “Everything looks amazing. You’re quite the cook.”
“I don’t starve, that’s for sure.” He grinned and reached for her hand. “Let’s say grace.”
“Of course.” She gripped his fingers and bowed her head.
“Lord Jesus, we ask You to bless this food we are about to eat. We ask for Your grace, wisdom, and strength as we seek those who would do us harm. In Jesus’s name. Amen.”
“Amen.” She clung to his hand for another second before releasing it. “That was nice.”
Trevor cleared his throat and held the chicken platter for her. He was dangerously close to falling for Bailey in a big way. He waited until she’d served herself, then piled food on his plate.
Archie crawled under the table. Their K9s were so well trained they wouldn’t even eat a dropped morsel of food without permission.
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Trevor took note of the swirling snow outside. It was coming down harder now, and he imagined the rental SUV was completely covered.
He made a mental note to head out to brush it off, just in case they had to leave in a hurry.
“This was delicious, thanks.” Bailey smiled and pushed back her chair. “I’ll wash dishes.”
“No, really, let me.” He jumped to his feet, startling Archie. “You should rest.”
“I hardly think washing dishes is taxing.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s the least I can do.”
“I’ll help.” He was about to carry his dirty dishes to the sink when his phone rang again. This time, he recognized Tom Howell’s number from earlier. “Hey, Tom, what’s up?”
“I just learned that Max Nelson was in an accident out on Highway 14. Halfway between Cody and Greybull.” Trevor froze, his grip tightening on the phone. “He didn’t make it,” Howell continued. “He was killed in the crash.”
He drew in a harsh breath. Was Max’s death an accident?
Or murder?